Pink Blanket
by fairmaidofkent
Summary: Narcissa Black considers the event that led to the eventual and not unwelcomed end of her childhood. Written for a contest on The Hideaway


"All good things must come to an end."

Of course, everyone's heard that particular adage before. But if that's the case, why mustn't all bad things end as well? That only seems fair to me. And perhaps, since I so firmly believe this to be true, this is the reason it has been so for me.

Not that my childhood was _bad,_ per se, just a mixture of too much drama, too many screaming fights, and too many harsh words that couldn't be taken back.

I'm not exactly sad to see it go, is what I mean.

Shouldn't adulthood be better? After all, I've been taught how to be a lady from the day I was born- I should think it would be nice to put all those lessons to use.

I spent hours today slaving away like an elf, carefully boxing up and putting into storage all my childhood things. My dolls, my clothing, my tiny stuffed creatures, my porcelain collection of unicorns… They were all neatly arranged in trunks and I suppose I shall never see them again.

The only item that stays my hand is a blanket. Well, I suppose it can hardly be called that anymore, it's just a tatty scrap now. But it used to be a blanket, soft and pink, embroidered with my initials, _N.B, _in the corner. It's very difficult to cast this aside, as it is truly, in retrospect, the reason I am becoming an official adult tomorrow.

._Fifteen Years Earlier_.

"Cissy, you absolutely must not move from this spot, alright? You're six years old now, and big enough to do as I say. You will sit here with your biscuit, and _not move._"

In the mind of little Cissy Black, her thirteen-year-old sister Bella's words were law. And, good child that she was, she had no intention of ever breaking said law as Bellatrix ran off to go cavort with Rodolphus Lestrange.

Unfortunately, as many good intentions do, this one went awry. It wasn't really Narcissa's fault that it was such a windy day, nor that she'd been left atop a knoll. There was no way she could have prevented her favorite blanket, the one she could go nowhere without, from being swept into a dense grove of trees below. Unthinkingly she dashed after it, pleading for it to lie still, and not be blown further. By the time she caught up with it, her precious square of fabric had fallen into strange hands.

"That's mine!" She cried breathlessly. The stranger looked up at her with an unreadable expression.

"What's your name?"

"Cissy."

"Well then, you're a liar, Cissy, because this blanket belongs to someone with the initials 'N.B', and since Cissy begins with neither of those letters, it cannot possibly be yours." The boy informed her with a superiority that all ten year old boys feel over little girls.

"It _is!_ Cissy is short for Narcissa!"

"I still don't believe you. And I think I shall drop this into the creek so it can find its way back to its proper owner."

"_No!_" She cried as her held it threateningly over said body of water. Later she knew her actions would have shamed her mother beyond belief, but at the time, Cissy Black wanted her blanket back, and nothing was going to stop her. Not even that sneering, arrogant blonde boy.

With a strength born of sheer determination, Narcissa launched herself at him, sending them both careening backwards into the stream. There was a brief struggle and much splashing, but eventually little Narcissa emerged victorious, clutching her blankie to her chest. With much dignity, she extracted herself from the shallows and glared down at the would-be thief. He was staring back at her with a mixture of disbelief and utter shock. And then, quite unexpectedly, he grinned and hopped up.

"Cissy, you said your name was?"

"Narcissa, actually. Narcissa Black." She replied haughtily, still grasping the pink cloth to her sodden form.

"I'm Lucius Malfoy." He paused. "You're not like most girls, Narcissa."

"And you're not like most boys. You're much ruder." The insult did not have its intended effect, as Lucius began to laugh.

"I rather like you."

._Present_.

Eyes still closed, lost in the memory, I feel the scrap plucked suddenly from my hands.

"I remember this," My soon-to-be husband informs me with a mischievous grin.

As I proceed to chase him about the room, I think that maybe I shall miss my childhood.

He turns to catch me up in a breathless kiss, and the blanket falls to the floor, forgotten.

So then again, maybe not.


End file.
